


always like the last supper here

by Raven (singlecrow)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Community: dogdaysofsummer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 16:03:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlecrow/pseuds/Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lying low at Lupin's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	always like the last supper here

Way off in the distance, they're ringing the bells for evensong when Remus closes his front door behind him and settles in to wait. August has that dimness in it he recalls from childhood; that something that speaks of dust, and waiting. The book he is not reading is in the wrong covers; espionage and hijinks lurk within, _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six_ covers without.

The landscape is enormous and rolling around him, disappearing into a tree-lined horizon, and there is only one road. It goes past this spot, blurs in the heat-haze, makes Remus think of distance and loss. As though through smoked glass, he remembers James stealing his books, shamelessly riffling under pillows and through trunks, asking _what's a telepone_ and _what's eleck-er-tricity_ – and falling with all that artless grace into a world like nothing else he'd known. Remus gave him Muggle books for every Christmas and every birthday, and got them all back one autumn day following an August like this one, charged with possibility and dread.

Just before nightfall, Sirius arrives at the gate, takes careful, tired steps up the path and stops before he gets to the door. They stand together, look at each other as the sun dips below the earth, and Remus says, "Well, you'd better come in."

He makes tea, and Sirius sits at the kitchen table. The sound of the kettle whistling covers the silence for a time, and then they are sitting opposite each other over an expanse of table, sanded, a desert laid out for them to cross.

"There are biscuits, too," Remus says, after a while.

"Thanks." Sirius frowns, looks like he's trying not to say something else. "And thanks for – you know. It's short notice, I know."

Remus nods. "_Lumos_," he mutters, and the lamps come to life; but there's a slight cracking in the edges of the spell, and they flicker.

Sirius seems to notice; he leans forward with a jerking abruptness and says, "Remus, when is..."

"The day after tomorrow." Remus doesn't look at him. "I had supposed, that as you would be here, you would consent to..."

"Yes!" Sirius is looking horrified, suddenly; an expression that falls neatly into the lines on his face. "Of course - yes."

Remus looks at him. "Thank you."

Something snaps, then; something breaks in the way the world is. Sirius is standing up, breathing raggedly, pushing something down, some great rush of emotion, and then he gets up and says, "So, is this how it goes? You make tea, there's biscuits? We make small talk? Shall I ask you if you've read any good books lately?" He snatches the book off the table. "_The Standard Book of Spells_, Moony? I'm back in your kitchen after thirteen years and it all went to shit and we are thirty-three years old, Jesus Christ, and you're reading your old textbooks?"

Remus says, "Actually, it's _The Spy Who Loved Me_" – and Sirius makes a noise that is halfway to a sob, sits down heavily back into his chair and starts to laugh, hysterically, abandonedly, until he's gasping for breath and there are tears standing out in his eyes.

"I gave it to James," Remus says, helplessly, "and then I got it back – after, and I wanted to read something while I was waiting for you, and... Sirius! Stop laughing at me!"

It makes no difference. At length, Sirius manages to say, "Remus, I'm sorry, but." A pause for more laughter. "_The Spy Who Loved Me_. Well, I never had one and neither did you."

Remus nods, and starts laughing himself, a little, as though for practice. "No. We never did. There are biscuits, Sirius, and a pork chop for later, and as this is something of a small cottage I rather think you'll have to share my bed. We never were spies, and James and Lily are dead. In the morning I'll get us a newspaper and it isn't your fault that they're dead."

Sirius stands up and charms the cups clean. "Yeah, all right," he says, and his voice is calm, charged with affection. "You can make some more tea, and we can catch up."

Remus casts more light, and draws the curtains with a flick of his wand. Outside, the last glimmers of the day are extinguished in the wind, and it's bringing with it the whispers of change.


End file.
